Ivan Klima - No Saints or Angels

When at last we lie down on our widened bed, he takes me in his arms. He caresses me again and says more tender things to me.

My little boy. What are you doing here with me at three in the morning? 'Don't go,' I whisper. 'Stay in me. You don't have to leave; I won't have any more children anyway.'

Silence. Lovemaking is over. 'You don't mind that I can't have children any more?'

He doesn't reply. Instead he says he loves me.

'But I asked you a question.'

'I answered you.'

'That wasn't an answer.'

'If you love someone, you love them just as they are.'

'And you'd like to have children?' I don't ask whether he'd like to have children with me.

'I don't know,' he says. 'I think my mother's the one who wants them. But it's not important.'

I oughtn't to have broached the subject. I don't want some other woman getting involved in what there is between us.

'Your mother called me Miss,' I recall.

'Mum thinks all the women who call me are Misses.'

'Do lots of Misses call you?'

'It depends what you mean by lots.'

'In this particular case, lots is more than one.'

'Well lots' then.'

'I should have known.' I laugh while, outside, dawn is breaking. I laugh while jealousy and sadness well up inside me.

He lays his head on my breasts. After making love he wants to sleep.

And when they ask for you, your mother replies, Hold the line, please, I'll call him.' Because they're to her liking: they're young and she wants grandchildren, I don't add.

'What else is she supposed to say?'

'She's only supposed to say it when I call. She's to tell the others not to bother you.'

'I'll put her straight.' He laughs because he can't take my words seriously. Even I can't, although I wish that she'd do precisely that.

'Have you told her about me yet?'

'No, I don't talk to her about such things. I don't want her interfering in my life.'

'What's she like?' I ask.

'What do you think? She's a teacher. At her age, she had to learn how to deal with computers. But she's great, she coped with it.'

'Has she ever interfered in your life?'

'She's tried. She's my mother. What mothers don't try to?'

It crosses my mind that I've not told my mother about him either. Except that he hasn't because he's most likely ashamed of me, an ageing divorcee, whereas I haven't because I'm ashamed of myself.

7

We were lying on the grass chewing the fat. Everyone was chewing the fat but I was fed up that Katya isn't here. She's the only one who's really ace. We did everything together: we went to the flicks, borrowed each other's CDs, we went shopping together for threads and ornaments, preferably the same so we could be like two sisters. But when we were together at her cottage last weekend she came home as high as a kite. Her dad could tell she was high and gave her such a belting she couldn't go to school the next day. She told him it was a violation of human rights and that she'd totally clear out, but her dad put her nose out of joint by saying they'd totally kick her out if she tried the stuff again. And now she's not allowed to go anywhere, only to school and back, and when we're going home there's always someone from her family: her older brother, her mum, her dad or even her wrinkly grandma waiting for her at the school gates. A real bummer.

Sometimes Ruda is really ace, but sometimes he couldn't give a fuck about me. I really like the fact he's got a nose like Bono, or even a yard longer, and not a pug nose like mine. And also he's got really big, strong hands.

He just noticed I was pissed off and so he jacked me up with something, I didn't even ask what it was but it was stronger than usual, probably a mixture of piko and smack, but I started to feel great. I felt like a fuck but I also didn't feel like moving. I stared at the sky where horses cantered and flamingos were flying. It was an ace trip.

Someone next to me said that the filth were coming, but I couldn't give a shit; I don't feel like getting up. Let them come. I didn't have any stolen goods, not even a gram, or even a needle.

Now I could see them too, the whole pig pack. They had two Alsatians on leads specially trained to deal with us. They were already yelling that we were scum on the drinking water that ought to be strained out and chucked in the Vltava, that happens to have been flowing here for at least a thousand years, or since the time that followed the Big Bang.

'Hey, we'd better split,' Ruda said. 'They look really mean today.'

So I got up. Not far away there was a deserted cottage that we used to creep into through broken windows in the yard. To get into the yard you had to climb over a wall that was all gnawed by mice, rats or the teeth of time.

Half an hour later we were all back together again. There were about nine of us. I couldn't tell for sure. I was so wrecked I couldn't tell them apart. I didn't even know whether the ones I could see were really here. Fortunately it didn't matter, nothing mattered. I couldn't care about school or Mum; I promised to call her but I didn't and I felt completely free.

The cottage was cold even now in the summer. The floor was made of stones of some kind. The walls were piss-sodden. There was just an iron bedstead and some wrecked cupboards to lie on. There used to be blankets but some tramps took them away last winter. There's just a pile of old Yellow Pages in one corner. Last time we slept here the cold was so dire that Katya and I covered ourselves with the Yellow Pages. They were heavy but they gave some warmth. And there was hardly any oxygen. Ruda said

oxygen is poison. The straights who go to the mountains to breathe fresh air for their health don't realize there's less oxygen there because there's less oxygen the higher you go. But down here we are poisoned and if we didn't smoke from time to time we'd be goners.

I didn't even know how many girls there were and how many boys.

It was already dark. Someone lit a candle, but it hardly burnt. It was like being in the mountains, because fire, I knew from Dad, needs oxygen, and shadows leapt about the battered walls, and beetles as big as rabbits crawled over them.

Ruda snuggled up to me and wanted a fuck. Why not, it didn't matter. The cupboard creaked under us. I heard myself say, 'Be careful,' and he told me not to worry, it was made of good timber. That really freaked me out.

I'm made from good timber too. I don't creak but I take it. If he waters me maybe I'll grow leaves, maybe I'll flower. I imagined the colours of my flowers. I like orange like marigolds. Ruda had rolled off me but some other kid in a biker's jacket was groping me. He smelt strange and scratched me with his bristly chin. Hey, fuck off, you stink!

I pushed him off the cupboard but he'd already managed to come in me.

Someone started to play a guitar and sing some crappy song about love.

I already knew something about love. I figured it out when Dad pissed off with that beanpole of his. And loads of blokes taught me about love; I don't know how many because I don't know whether the ones that jumped on me were real or not. Maybe I only imagined it all. But I didn't imagine Ruda; he was the first one who offered me hash. That was ages ago, absolute aeons, two years ago at least, but maybe it was twenty years because I was already dreadfully old, wasn't I? at least a hundred years old. I was just beginning to feel moss growing on me.

A sewer rat was watching me from the corner by the door that goes nowhere. Who are you staring at, you creep? He was as big as a small dog and had eyes like a cat. Maybe it was a cat got up as a mouse. Tom dressed up as Jerry, or vice versa.

Maybe I was only imagining it all: the moss, the mouse, the people here and this vile hole where everything stinks.